Odyssey in the Mojave
by AnimeAverageJoe
Summary: Over 200 years have passed since the bombs of the Great War fell and a lone Courier finds himself getting caught in the middle of a growing conflict. With several factions vying for power and control, the Courier will navigate through the dangers in the post-war world and change the Mojave Wasteland forever.


**A/N: My author's notes will be posted at the bottom until then just kick back, relax, and enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own, _Fallout _in any way, shape or form. The franchise and its characters belong to its rightful owners/companies. I also do not own the cover image. That belongs to its rightful creators/owners/companies.**

**(I do own any OC's)**

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**_War. War never changes._**

**_The Romans waged war to gather slaves and wealth. Spain built an empire from its lust of gold for gold and territory. Hitler shaped a battered Germany into an economic superpower._**

**_But war never changes._**

**_In the 21st century, the war was waged over the resources that could be acquired. Only this time, the spoils of war were also its weapons: Petroleum and Uranium. For these resources, China would invade Alaska, the US would annex Canada, and the European Commonwealth would dissolve into bickering nation-states, bent on controlling the last remaining resources on Earth._**

**_The end of the earth came just as we predicted. Too many humans, not enough space or resources to go around. The details are trivial and pointless, the reasons, as always, were human._**

**_In 2077, the storm of war had arrived once again. Within two brief hours, most of the planet was reduced to cinders. Spears of nuclear fire rained from the skies. Continents were swallowed in flames and fell beneath boiling oceans. Humanity was nearly extinguished, their spirits becoming part of the background radiation that blanketed the Earth._**

**_A quiet darkness fell across the planet. Few survived the devastation. Those that were able to withstand the atomic fire did so in great, underground vaults. When opened, their inhabitants set out across the ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, form new tribes._**

**_As decades passed, what had been the American southwest united under the flag of the New California Republic, dedicated to the old-world values of democracy and the rule of the law. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth, in the dry and merciless expanse of the Mojave Desert. They returned with tales of a city untouched by the warheads that scorched the rest of the world, and a great wall spanning the Colorado River._**

**_The NCR mobilized its army and set it east to occupy the Hoover Dam and restore it to working condition. But across the Colorado, another society had arisen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves forged from 86 tribes: Caesar's Legion._**

**_Four years have passed since the Republic held the dam against-just barely-the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river, they gather in strength, Campfires burned, training drums beat._**

**_Through it, all the New Vegas Strip has stayed open for business under the control of its mysterious overseer, Mr. House, and his army of rehabilitated tribals and police robots._**

**_Caught in the middle, a Courier, hired by the Mojave Express, was hired to deliver a package to the New Vegas strip. What appeared to be a simple delivery job has taken a turn for the worse…_**

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**Chapter #001: Wasteland Burial**

_**Benny**_

The sounds of distant gunfire echoed across the Mojave Wasteland.

Standing high atop a hill, which served as a cemetery for the settlement of Goodsprings, Benny took note of each echo that he could hear from his elevated position. The sounds were coming from all over the desert landscape that was concealed by the darkness of the night. Some of them came out one at a time, repeating themselves like a steady beat in a pre-war song. While others were more erratic and could be heard more frequently. Yet, despite the differences in the beats between the echoing gunfire, all of them were easy for Benny's ear to keep track of.

There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that from each echoing shot which emerged in the night, there was a story to go along with it. What that story could've been, well, that was up to the imagination. Gangs vying for control over a small scrabble of radioactive sand-covered land. Caravans defending their wares from raiders who were feeling more than a little lucky. The NCR's soldiers fighting against the Legion, or other Mojave factions, during their nighttime operations. Heck, it could've even been something as pathetic as some greenhorn vault dweller accidentally firing off his weapon, probably shooting himself with it too. Out there anything was possible.

As Benny's eyes wandered across the chilling desert floor, he concluded that the distant gunshots accompanied by the ruggedness of his current location were a welcome change of pace in his life. It helped him to recall what the rest of his workers back at the Strip referred to as the 'old days'. It was a time when he was nothing more than a punk with an attitude. He could remember the excitement that came every time he entered a fight. The comradery he shared with other members of the old Boot Riders gang, roaming freely across the wastes. The fear and uncertainty he felt with every close call he's had on his life, and he's been through quite a few. Benny remembered everything from those times as clear as day.

While his eyes continued to wander over the Mojave, the nostalgic warmth that was provided from those memories was quickly fleeting away once he saw the aura of yellow light that came from the fabled 'Jewel of the Mojave'. What followed next was a familiar feeling, one that Benny knew all too well; insignificance.

Benny found it funny. As clearly as he remembered the comforting times he had with the Boot Riders, he remembered the moment when he realized how insignificant he was far better.

It all started when a new type of robot, the likes of which neither Benny nor the Boot Riders had never seen before, began clearing out the different tribes and gangs from the nearby area. It didn't take those mechanical terrors too long to do their job. After weeks of fighting what was once a prosperous area filled with 21 tribes just fighting each other turned into a massive graveyard where only three remained. Then the unexpected happened. One of those robots rolled up to them across the yellow sands. It's monitor no longer held the face of a policeman from one of those pre-war cartoons, but rather a portrait of a well-groomed man. It had called out to the three gangs in that damned mechanized voice with a single proposition: help rebuild the glory of the pre-war city named 'Vegas', vacate what remained of the strip immediately, or die.

The choice seemed pretty easy to make.

When the robots escorted the Boot Riders with the other two tribes to the city of Vegas, Benny was starting to have second thoughts once he realized where they were going. Everyone and their mother within the 21 tribes knew that the city was nothing but a cesspool. Constantly overrun with gangs, lunatics, drugs, and death on every street in every building. Even with the entire gang of the Boot Riders behind his back, Benny couldn't feel safe moving around in that hallowed shell of a city. Yet once they entered the outskirts of that God-forsaken stretch of land, that was when Benny felt truly insignificant.

It was no longer a bleak remnant of the old world, with crumbling buildings of ruined bricks and constant gang warfare. Now it was a place of bright lights, with their glow hiding the stars and the colors being reflected on the repaired buildings with more 'civilized' people waiting anxiously as the newly constructed gates and walls around the city. An area that was once filled with the worst that the wasteland had to offer was cleansed anew and ready for something fresh to replace it.

It was a startling, no, enlightening realization for Benny. That what one person did within the span of a few months was more than he could have ever achieved within his entire lifetime.

He had never felt so small before. So useless.

Benny could recall staring at that city for what felt like a lifetime before they finally got around to entering it. As they walked past the gates and basked in the new sights that were presented, Benny had another profound experience. It was one that he didn't recognize until much later. It was a feeling of ambition.

Now sure, Benny was always an ambitious guy. If someone were to ask any of the remaining Boot Riders, they could've told stories for days about Benny's ambitious nature. How he would take any job he knew would further his place or respect within the gang. But this ambition wasn't about something as simple as furthering his position within the ranks of a backcountry wasteland gang. Oh no, this was far greater than that. This was an ambition to make the city of New Vegas his own. An ambition to make himself become as significant and powerful an individual as the man that appeared on the robot's monitor, if not more.

And now after months and months of planning he had that, he finally had that.

Benny started reaching into his checkered pre-war suit and pulled out a pack of already opened cigarettes. Lucky Strike, his favorite. Looking inside the crunched container, he plucked out one of the cigarettes and put the rest back into his suit. Reaching into his right pants pocket, Benny pulled out his favored lighter, engraved with the image of his 'Lucky Angel' on one side and the letter 'B' on the other. He placed the cigarette into his mouth and lite it quickly. Benny took a couple of puffs as he placed the lighter back into his pocket. Turning around, Benny was welcomed by the sight of the two Khans he had hired. Both of them were digging an empty grave. Meanwhile, his eyes looked up at the other members of their little party who was bound by rope, gagged with a cloth, and bleeding a few feet from the hole in the ground.

Pinching the cigarette, Benny pulled it away from his mouth and let out an exhale of smoke. He'd give this Courier some credit, the kid put up more of a fight than he, or his hired help for that matter, had anticipated. Most people would've just shat their pants on the spot and flee at the sight of two fierce-looking Khans rushing down and shooting at them. Hell, most people would probably make like a leaf when a bullet is lodged before their feet.

But not this Courier.

Yeah, whoever this kid was, he wasn't a quitter. He stood his ground against the ambush. Firing back at the three of them, moving out of the open and using the terrain for any kind of advantage against them. Turning what was supposed to be a simple skirmish into a prolonged firefight that went on for longer than an hour. He was even able to graze one of his companions with a lucky shot, this kid knew his way around a gunfight. Yet, he must've realized the sad truth, that when you're outnumbered three to one, in an open stretch of land, your options for getting out become increasingly limited. Like ammunition.

When he had run out of bullets, that was all Benny and the Khans needed before rushing the Courier's location.

Benny eyed the beaten body as he took a cigarette out of mouth again. His associates sure did a number on this guy and personally, he didn't blame them. This kid almost put the entire job at stake and nearly killed one of them with a well-placed bullet. So, when the Khans wanted to take more than a few 'liberties' with this mailman, well…who was he to get in the way?

Looking at the unconscious body now, there were dried up streams of black blood that painted his face. His left eye was swollen, probably from that well-placed kick. Underneath the worn-out clothes, there were probably bruises developing all over the kid's body. More than that, with the 'treatment' he received, Benny wouldn't put it past him that this Courier probably had a few cracked ribs and fractured bones to go along with that.

Still, Benny got what he needed.

"Alright," The gruff voice of McMurphy called out to him. "You got whatchu were after, so pay up."

Benny took another drag from his cigarette before looking the Great Khan right in the eyes, ignoring the cut that was present on his face from that graze by the lucky shot. "You're crying in the rain, pally." He exhaled, smoke coming off of each word.

As predicted, the Khan didn't take his words very well. But Benny never broke eye contact with the man, even as something akin to a sneer worked its way on the raider's grime-covered face.

It went without saying that the Great Khans were one of the tougher gangs within the Mojave Wasteland. Back when he was a part of the Boot Riders, crossing the Khans was an act that was almost always a death sentence. Hell, back when the Khans were at full strength it was a damn fact in these parts. However, the Khans weren't the same as they were in their glory days. If they were, Benny found it unlikely that any Khan would accept a job like this. Guess that goes to show what happens when you bite off more than you can chew.

The tension between him and McMurphy became more and more palpable with every passing second. Neither of them was looking away from the other. As he stared coolly at the enraged face, Benny could feel those old instincts kick-in as his right hand began to slowly creep its way up to his coat. So subtly that McMurphy wouldn't have noticed it. All that was left was the right words to lead into the next action.

Those words would never come as the other Khan, Jessup, if he remembered correctly, called out to the two of them. And boy, were his words quite the surprise.

"Guess who's waking up over here." Benny turned away from McMurphy, looking past Jessup, to the sight of the bound Courier, on his knees, tugging at the restraints around his arms.

Lifting the cigarette for another drag, Benny looked down at the Courier. Behind him, McMurphy was approaching from the left, while Jessup stood to his right, holding the digging shovel in his hand. All three of them looking down at the bloodied individual who had caused them so much trouble.

The Courier's struggles soon lessened in their intensity; he raised his eyes from the binds up to the three men looking down at him. His left eye pink and swollen, while his right constantly darting between the three of them.

Benny took one last hit from his cigarette, exhaling as he dropped it on the ground and crushes it with his foot.

**"**Time to cash out." He stated, looking back at the Courier and taking a few steps closer.

**"**Would you get it over with?**"** McMurphy snapped at him in a frustrated tone.

Benny rose a single finger to silence the man. **"**Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face," He tilted his head towards his left, away from the Courier, and looked McMurphy right in his eyes. "But I ain't a fink, dig?"

The lead Khan's face scrunched up in anger again as Benny looked away. McMurphy's beef with him would have to be handled later; Benny decided. He didn't want to deal with a raider that was pissed-off at him just because they lost a couple of Khans on this caper. McMurphy and his remaining buddies were still getting paid after all this was over, one giant lump sum. Benny would have to remind of that fact, and if the Kahn was still getting testy with him, well, maybe a there would be one less share for their group to divvy up. But that was later, much later, right now he had more urgent matters to handle.

Looking back at the Courier's eyes Benny reached inside of his checked suit, searching the lining until his fingers touched a familiar metallic object. Gripping the item, Benny pulled his hand out the suit and brought it out, flashing it for everyone to see. It was a poker chip made out of platinum.

Immediately, the Courier's good eye widened as he saw the chip, clearly recognizing it as the package he was carrying.

Benny briefly looked at the chip and smiled in the corner of his mouth at the sight of the '38' engraved in the middle of the chip. He finally had it, at long last the key to all his ambitions was in his hand. It felt surreal. After everything he did, the time spent on planning and preparing, all his efforts had finally paid off. His cards have been laid on the table and now he's won the jackpot, but there was still one thing that needed to be taken care of. Turning his eyes back to the Courier, the small smile fell from his face. All this mailman business ended now.

"You've made your last delivery kid." Benny said, waving the chip to emphasis each word. And, if he was being honest, it wasn't like he was wrong with his statement; the kid had delivered the chip to someone who needed it.

Benny brought the chip back into his hand before reaching back inside of his coat once again. He carefully placed the chip back into the pocket where he found it in before he reached past that toward his left armpit. Gripping something all too familiar.

"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." Benny half-heartedly apologized as he finally pulled out his pistol, Maria.

He quickly glanced down at the gun. His eyes taking in the engravings that decorated the body of the weapon, the nickel finish that gleamed orange from the light nearby, and the ivory handle that held the portrait of the very lady it was named after. Everything about this gun was perfect for Benny.

Looking back at the courier, Benny lifted the side-arm and leveled it to the Courier's head. There was an immediate reaction from their prisoner. Benny could see the kid's nose inhaling and exhaling quickly, his good eye quickly darting between Benny and Maria's business end. Behind him he could hear rustling coming from both McMurphy and Jessup, they were no doubt getting interested in seeing how this thing played out.

"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck." The arm holding Maria stilled, his finger wrapped around the golden trigger; lightly squeezing it. "Truth is…the game was rigged from the start."

*BANG*

The Courier's head harshly whipped back when the bullet hit it; his torso plummeted hard on the dusty ground from the recoil of his head. The kid's legs quickly gave out from their kneeling position, ending up sprawled out on the ground. It took only a second for the body to still itself. It was over.

"Whoooa!" Jessup exclaimed, clearly delighted at the execution "Hot damn, that was wicked!"

"Took you long enough." McMurphy scoffed, clearly sounding unimpressed.

Benny looked away from the body over to the half-finished grave. They needed to get a move on and bury the body before someone or something stumbled upon their handiwork. That would just raise complications and complications were something that he didn't need to deal with right now.

"Alright, enough chit-chat," Benny said in a commanding tone. He jerked his head over towards the grave. "Let's get this done lickety-split."

"Yeah, sure," Jessup replied, getting moving over the shallow hole, while McMurphy let out an annoyed sigh at the order. McMurphy's attitude problems would need to be handled and soon too.

Benny looked back to the dead body and slowly walked over to it. Looking down at the kid's head, there was a new hole right in the middle of his forehead with rushing rivers of dark blood pouring out of it pooling around his head. Most of it went into his hair, matting it with the thick liquid and sticking it to whatever it was touching. A couple went down the other side of his and veered off a generally before his mouth, sliding down his cheeks and pooling down on the ground around his skull. Looking at the kid's good eye, it was pointed upward with not even the slightest twitch being seen. Completely lifeless.

Benny let out a sigh as he raised Maria again, smoke still coming out of the barrel, it wasn't in his character to let a job go half-done, he needed this to be done properly.

He fixed his sights on the Courier's head one more time…

*BANG*

Another echo of gunfire rang across the Mojave Wasteland that night.

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**A/N: To be frank, I've been wanting to back write on this site for a couple of years now. However, my time at college took priority and I found myself going through bouts of writer's block time and time again; killing any drive I had to write a story. I'm considering it a miracle that I even got around to writing this, I don't know if I'll be able to write this story in a timely fashion but I aim to try my hardest to get it done. I've always been a huge fan of the _Fallout_ franchise (not looking at you _76_), with_ New Vegas_ being one of my favorite games of all time, so I'm really excited that I got this metaphorical ball rolling.**

**Aside from that, I'm also trying my best to become more developed in my writing skills. In preparation for this story, I took a look back at my old stories and I'll admit that they aren't very well written. They're littered with grammar errors and typos. So, if you have any feedback or constructive criticisms towards my material, please let me know in a review and I will gladly take those into consideration when writing future content for this or other stories.**

**That's just about it. I hope you guys had a good time with the 2010s and I hope you also have a great time in the 2020s, I know I will. ****This is the AnimeAverageJoe wishing you all a good time and a good year.**


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